


just north of nowhere

by softwareinstability



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Connor falls asleep on the train home, Connor stops scowling and starts smiling, First Date, M/M, Markus comes to the rescue, Markus has that effect, Markus is a firm believer in destiny, Minor Josh/North (Detroit: Become Human), Norse Mythology references, Sort Of, also I'm absolutely horrible at titles and I'm sorry, also more dates, just something gentle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softwareinstability/pseuds/softwareinstability
Summary: When Connor misses his stop, Markus wants to help.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 114





	1. vaknar

He'd fallen asleep and missed his stop. Markus knew because the only people who rode the line down this far were transportation workers, vagrants, and him. And people like this guy, who'd only gone this far by mistake.

There was one more stop past Markus', and he didn't think the guy would want to wake up there, several hours later when the cleaning crew came through, or even sooner if some opportunistic sort rolled him for the contents of his wallet.

What was worse was that he'd slept badly. Not that it was surprising; these seats were hardly comfortable. But to Markus' mind, if you were going to come down here for the sole purpose of sleeping, it was a pity to at least not have slept well.

"Hey." A gentle shake, his hand curving one slumped, slender shoulder. He was a pretty good judge of character usually. Except for a few past boyfriends. In any case, lines of commitment, stability, family, all were clear on this guy. Marked, in the angle of how he was draped on the seat, cheek pressed to the dark window. In the shadow his hand made, loose on his lap. "Hey, man. You've arrived safely in ass-crack, nowhere. I don't think you want to go any farther."

The guy woke with an irritable sound. Markus didn't blame him. Nothing like being woken up from crappy sleep to find yourself too far down the line with a weird, chatty stranger. "Where?" He blinked, and Markus saw that moment as he always did when other people noticed his eyes. Or maybe it was just that he was too close.

Markus took a step back to get out of the guy's personal space, and hefted his leather satchel higher up on his shoulder. "One stop short of the end of the line. There's nothing down here, I get off at this next stop. Cell service is kind of spotty, but maybe you should call someone?"

The guy looked at him, and at the approaching station. Bleary. _Okay, you don't get enough sleep ever,_ Markus thought. "To call a cab or someone to pick you up? This is the last train."

Which had now come to a stop. The doors shuddered open.

"Look," he said. "This is a now or never thing. I need to get home, and I'd prefer to go knowing you were okay." With an apologetic look, Markus turned to the doors. "Like, now."

"Connor." He said it as he cleared the doors with Markus, just in time before they closed behind them both.

Markus smiled. Apparently Connor wasn't so out of it that he hadn’t considered the risk Markus was taking here, too. He didn't know of course that Markus could see everything there on him, read the strength of his character on him as clearly as the fact that he was, if he stopped scowling for a minute, damned cute. "Markus," he answered solemnly. "You can borrow my cell phone if you want?" He offered it with a ridiculous little flourish. There, there was the grin. Not just cute, then. Handsome. _Hot._

Then the scowl was back, and _wow,_ that was fast. "There’s nobody to call."

On the verge of some quip about despite the fact that you can never actually get a cab when you need one, they do exist and can be telephoned for, Markus stopped. Really hearing, as he often did when he shut up and listened.

He sounded lonely. And angry about it.

_Markus. Don't take in strays. You remember the last time? This, this could be even worse. Don't do it._

"Come on. My place isn't far. You can crash on my couch until the next train comes through." He started walking again, then stopped, mildly surprised when Connor didn't immediately follow. He turned back around. "I'm not a homicidal maniac," he reassured, with what he hoped was a not at all unsettling smile.

"How do you know I'm not one?" It could have been menacing, if it didn't come from a guy who looked so wrung out, sleep-ruffled, scowly and still somehow appealing all at the same time.

"I just know," he said. He was aware of the birds behind him. They'd swooped down as the two of them had walked. Ravens. One lit on the lamppost behind him while the other circled lazily then fell in a fluttering thud to the sidewalk. It was the truth; Markus _did_ know what kind of a person Connor was. Also, he didn't. But he'd offered, and whether it was out of impulse and instinct rather than reason and good sense, it still stood.

Connor watched the ravens. Observant. Markus wondered if he was sharp enough to make the connection. "All right." He shrugged. And despite it all, ravens and the cavernous shadows between the warehouses, the sound of the water and the docks in the distance, he followed Markus home.

Through the door that Markus had painted himself, the only way for a while he could tell his warehouse from all the others. Up to his loft. Warm and cluttered, as it always was, particularly now when he wasn't expecting any clients. Or midnight guests. "Sorry about the chaos."

Pointless to apologize, but he always did.

Connor looked around. Markus knew what this place said about him. Books, open space, a need for an expansive view that was almost 250 degrees. Water, and skyline. Simultaneous solitude, and connection with the city. Plants, usually well tended, despite the clutter of the apartment. Nearly front and centre sat the huge, weathered Kawai grand. "You play?" Connor asked, with renewed interest for whatever reason.

Markus dropped his jacket over a chair, the satchel followed onto the floor, and he continued in towards the kitchen. "I try. I emote." He shrugged. "I'm a painter and massage therapist by trade."

Connor had stopped at the piano, a hand on the wood, lost in thought.

"What about you?" Markus asked, returning from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Glancing up, Connor eyed both with a skeptical look. "What are those for?"

Markus stopped and looked at the bottle, the glasses. "Well, until just now I was thinking one was to pour from, the other to drink out of. Now you've got me wondering." A look back and forth, hand to hand, then back to Connor. Still scowling. "Are you always like this?"

He knew the answer. Under the hard lines of reproach on his face, there were other things. Lines, runes, that told the story of a different man than this. A sense of fun, humour, that he owned, belonged to him, _was_ him. Lightness. Tenderness, even. But Markus was interested to hear what he'd say.

Connor looked around. He had already; this was the second look. Seeking out anything he might have missed. Markus waited him out, watched the rake of his hand through a beautiful mess of curls. That, he knew, was a habit. "No," Connor answered, finally. It was the truth.

"So." Markus was in the middle of standing and juggling one glass and the other glass and trying to pour – as usual the idea of a table didn't occur to him as logical to set one or the other on – when Connor reached for the glasses, to help. Markus smiled, wide. _There you are._

"You didn't answer my question," he prompted, and watched Connor trace back through the last few minutes to find it. He poured while he waited.

"Juggle crises. Consult at the DPD." A shrug, with that same underlying resentment, and the scowl that Connor probably didn't realize he was still maintaining. But still, at the same time, allowing himself to be led to the couch. Or maybe he didn't know where they were headed until he was sitting down. "I should—"

"Drink your wine. And take your shoes off. _Really._ "

A moment's pause, and then Connor was setting his glass on the floor, bending down to pull off his shoes. "Do you always bring home strangers?"

Markus had slid off the couch to take one of Connor's feet into his hands before there was time for any protest. And then when it inevitably came, "no, it's okay. I'm a professional." When he protested again, "Connor, no. Drink your wine." By that time his hands were already working, fingers dug into the arch, and Connor appeared to give into it, sinking further into the couch instead.

"Not always, to answer your question."

Markus watched Connor struggle with his reactions to the touch. At once still angry somehow, but also comforted. Aroused. There was a whole set of responses he'd probably have to this, but the situation – waking up on the train, the strange walk here, the ravens and the whole surreal feeling to this – had circumvented them. It was as though Connor was _allowing_ himself this. "Listen," he began, with a shift that almost got his foot out of Markus' grasp but not quite. "I don't– That–"

"Feels good," Markus prompted, with a grin.

"Yes," Connor answered automatically, though Markus heard the _no_ underneath it. Close to the other things lying under the surface, the source of this odd anger and hurt. "You're enjoying this," he accused, staring down at Markus over the rim of the glass he was rapidly draining.

"A little." Markus considered him, strong fingers working. "What's got you so pissed off?"

"Nothing," Connor muttered. "Everything," he amended, with a sharp exhale and his head falling back against the couch. "I can't explain." His eyes were closed. "Not what you wanted, huh?" He was talking to Markus, and he wasn't.

"At least there's wine," Markus said. "Is it helping?" He meant the wine, his hands, all of this.

"Maybe. Maybe, a little."

"You can talk if you need to. Or not, either way."

Connor was still somewhere else, and Markus allowed him to be. Fingers kneaded along the foot in his lap, stopped now and then for a stroke of his palm that was far too close to a caress. He reached for his wine, realizing.

"We had a fight," Connor began, and Markus set his glass back on the floor, slow.

"We?" Now he reached for the other foot, pressing his thumbs in beneath Connor's toes.

Connor gave him a look, full of dry amusement. "My–" Here, he was struggling to find the right word. Markus fought the urge to provide a list of contenders. "Dad, I guess."

_That_ hadn't been on the list. Markus glanced back up, noticing that Connor's glass was almost empty already. "Help yourself to a refill," he offered. "What was the fight about?"

"Really, you're not going to ask?"

"Some people have fathers, others have father figures." Markus shrugged, his focus back on Connor's foot. He heard more wine being poured, and smiled to himself when Connor leaned over and topped his glass up as well.

"He's protective," Connor finally seemed to decide. "Too much, sometimes. He's seen me get hurt and get back up again enough times by now though to _know._ "

"I'd say maybe he guesses you're his son, and it's just what dads do." Markus was distracted then by a soft tapping at one of the windows, and Connor followed his gaze to the pair of ravens perched just outside, black against the indigo sky.

"Friends of yours?"

"Nuisances," Markus answered. "Hurt how?"

"I work with the Police Department. Hank, he's a Lieutenant. That's how we got to know each other."

"That's quite a step from colleague to dad," Markus observed. His fingers had ceased their movement now, and he was simply holding onto Connor's foot with one hand, while the other reached again for his wine.

"A lot happened. We were in bad situations, both of us, and– You know what? It doesn't matter, that's all gone and in the past. The point is, sometimes he forgets I'm a grown man and I can make and recover from my own mistakes."

Markus had a mouthful of wine – unlike Connor, he was appreciating the flavour – but he swallowed it at that, shaking his head. "Oh, I think he knows. But isn't prevention better than cure?"

"God, you sound just like him," Connor accused, finally wrangling his foot free from Markus' loose grasp so that he could get up from the couch. He walked across to the window where the ravens had been, and Markus wondered when they'd departed.

"I have a not dad, too," he said. "He's protective, and generous to a fault, but gods help you if you cross him."

"Did you?" Connor asked, at once the most involved and interested he'd been since he woke up. Deflection, Markus knew. Maybe a hope that, of the two of them, Connor was still the better son.

"Cross him? Not at all, I know better. And he knows more than I'd like, sometimes. What were you doing, on that train tonight? Aside from taking a medal-winning nap?"

Another smile, there and gone again, quicksilver. "Getting as far away from another bad situation as I could. A date," Connor explained. "It went south, just like Hank said it would. I called to ask if I should bring some dinner home with me, and of course he wanted to know _why,_ and he reminded me he _said_ it was a bad idea from the start, and–"

"You fought," Markus finished for him. "So wait, you didn't even get to eat? Why didn't you say? I have food."

He didn't give Connor time to answer, had already pulled himself up off the floor to head to the kitchen. He wasn't surprised that Connor trailed after him, however.

"You don't need to do that. It's late already."

"Is it?" Markus asked, opening the fridge.

Connor had no response to that. He put his glass down though, and started opening cupboards, maybe looking for plates. Or more wine, Markus mused.

"You know, I don't get you. Actually, I'm not even sure why I _trust_ you as much as I do."

"Maybe because I'm treating you better than your date did tonight? Wine, a massage, _food._ " Markus couldn't help himself, though Connor's expression had soured further at the mention of his date. "Why did it go south? Other than you left hungry."

There was a pause, the air between them still and silent. Markus put a block of cheese and some butter on the worktop, waited.

"He wasn't my type," Connor concluded, speaking into a cupboard.

"You're looking in the wrong place," Markus began. "If you're after more wine, it's in that end cabinet."

"I wasn't– You really don't need to cook, Markus."

"I want to. I _like_ to. And who doesn't like grilled cheese?"

"Maybe I'm lactose intolerant."

"You're not, though. Pass me that grater, would you please?"

  
  
  


Connor said little while Markus threw together too many grilled cheese sandwiches. He _did_ take out a second bottle of wine, though. They sat at either end of the couch, Markus with his long legs outstretched and angled towards Connor. The plate of sandwiches was between them, though Markus didn't reach for it.

"You said you were a painter. Are all of these your work?" Connor waved his grilled cheese in an all-encompassing gesture.

"Most," Markus replied, impressed that Connor had even remembered. Charmed, too. "A couple are by other people. Housewarming gifts."

"How long have you lived here?" There was a pensive note to the question that Markus didn't miss. He wondered at it, though fragments of earlier conversation filtered back to him and he thought, _you want your own space in the world, don't you?_

"A couple of years. I was taking care of my dad for the longest time before I came here. He insisted I spread my proverbial wings."

"Huh. It's a nice place. You must make plenty."

"I'm comfortable," Markus said, watching Connor finish the grilled cheese he'd been working on, reach for another. "Seems you are too. _Finally._ "

Connor gave him a sideways glance, then took his third look at the loft. "You like to read," he observed.

"You don't?"

"Most of what I read is for my job. It's okay." Connor shrugged, and Markus subtly moved his foot when it looked as though he might try to move again.

_No,_ the foot said. _Stay there, keep talking._

"It's just about trying to understand people better."

"Most books are," Markus offered. "So, I'm curious. What _is_ your type?"

Connor huffed a surprised laugh, tipping his head back again. He rolled to his cheek, giving Markus a critical eye. "Are you flirting right now?"

"You're the people expert, you tell me."

"I wasn't some damsel in distress, you know. I didn't need a knight to rescue me."

"I know that. But I can tell you now, you didn't want to stay on that train any farther down the line. Isn't this better?"

Connor hummed, and Markus watched the lines of him shift. Subtle, but there. "I'm not dropping my pants for a grilled cheese sandwich, however good it is. You can buy me dinner, another night."

"Fine," Markus agreed, and finished the last few mouthfuls of his wine.

"I think I'd like to hear you play. _Emote_ ," Connor amended, his cheeks a little flushed. His boldness, or maybe just the alcohol. Markus didn't think it would take long for the earlier exhaustion to catch Connor up again, but as he'd asked so nicely, it was easy enough to oblige.

He set his empty glass on the table, and pushed himself off the couch, giving Connor's knee a light squeeze in passing.

The piano was one of the things Carl had insisted he bring with him, and the one thing Markus hadn't planned on leaving behind anyway. He'd first touched the keys half a lifetime ago, a quiet teenager with a burning need to express himself. The music brought him to life, just as painting did a year later. As most things he applied himself to did, now.

The feel of the wood, the smell of the old sheet music that he rarely looked at, they were things as familiar to him as the sun in the sky. Markus sat, and lay his fingers on the keys; a caress. Contemplated. He heard the couch creak, and Connor came to stand at the other side of the piano. Safety in the distance, perhaps.

There were nights when Markus would pound these keys, create cacophonous sounds that would linger on. Tonight, he thought, called for something softer. His hands on Connor's feet, a smooth red wine, the warm haze of fall. He drifted into the music as it came to him, the shifting shapes at the tips of his fingers. Runes for joy, for a gift, and another Markus identified as specifically Connor.

Connor moved as Markus played. Further around the piano, to watch Markus' hands, then across to the window, to stare out at the shadows and lights of the encroaching city. To the armchair Markus rarely used, where he folded himself into the seat, chin resting over its back so that he could watch, still. Listen.

Comforted, Connor seemed to weave himself a blanket of the notes until he was cocooned in them completely. Markus let the music find its natural end, through him, and pulled his hands back into his lap.

"You're good," Connor murmured.

"And you're a long way past exhausted. You should sleep."

"I guess I should."

After a brief disagreement about sleeping arrangements, Markus gave in to Connor's insistence on taking the couch, and brought him out some pillows and a cozy, downy quilt. He cleared away the glasses and the plate while Connor settled. By the time he made his way back through, headed for his own bed, Connor was asleep.


	2. sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor heads home after the night at Markus' loft.
> 
> (Short chapter this time, though the next will be longer.)

Connor woke too early,  with a dry mouth and a dull ache behind his eyes. Also, a full bladder. A brief search turned up the bathroom  – after an unexpected closet, and a messy studio that he wished he'd explored last night – where Connor relieved himself and stole some mouthwash.

His phone and wallet were stacked neatly on the table beside the couch. They'd hindered his comfort during the night, he remembered. Picking both up, he realized two things; he'd had several messages and a couple of missed calls at some point, and only twelve percent battery power remaining to deal with them.

He  moved to one of the windows , as he read. Two messages from the date he'd bailed on. One quite mild, the other much less so.  _No loss._ The rest, predictably, were from Hank. Connor scrolled through them with a mixture of  annoyance and guilt.  He thought of what Markus had said, and sent a message back while he was still able.  _I'm okay. I'll be home soon. I'm sorry._

"Morning," a sleep-rough voice said.

Connor looked up from his phone and instantly felt his neck grow warm. He'd forgotten, or misremembered, exactly how Markus looked. Better still in the chill light of dawning.

"I'd ask if you slept okay, but it's barely seven. I told you; you should have taken the bed."

"I'm okay," Connor told him. He knew it was something he said a lot. All the time, when asked. Sometimes there was even some truth in it. He could tell from the sympathetic tilt of Markus' head, however, that he'd been less than convincing this time.

"Coffee?"

"I should – "

"Sugar? Cream?" Markus persisted.

Connor asked himself  – not for the first time  – just  _why_ he'd followed this man home. That he was  beautiful was in no doubt, but there  was more to it than that. 

"Do you ever take no for an answer?"

"When it's the right answer, sure," Markus shrugged. "Besides, you need to at least stay long enough to give me your number. Dinner?" He reminded, as if Connor had already forgotten.

"So you  _do_ just want in my pants."

The look Markus gave him then was simultaneously hurt and hungry. "Maybe. Or maybe I just want to see where this path leads."

"What's the story with your eyes?" Connor asked, following Markus again. "There's a name for it, isn't there? There must be."

"Heterochromia," Markus said, like he'd been asked the same question a hundred times before. "There's no story; they just are as they are. Coffee mugs are right there in that cabinet behind you."

"Sorry," Connor said. He wasn't sure why, except for that feeling he'd asked something redundant. Or that maybe there _was_ a story, but Markus didn't like to tell it.

Markus was quiet for a few moments, waiting Connor out while he fetched down two mugs. Large, clearly hand-made, and painted an obnoxious shade of green. "You say that a lot, don't you?"

"Say what?" Connor watched Markus preparing the coffee. His head still felt clunky, and he wondered just how Markus was so perky this early.

"That you're sorry. I get that vibe, you know? That you've spent a lot of your life being conditioned to second-guess yourself. You shouldn't, you know. I mean, apologize if you've actually _done_ something awful, but asking a question? Not enjoying a date? Those aren't things you need to be sorry for, Connor. I had a dream about you last night," Markus went on, before Connor could think of a response to the first thing.

"You– What? Why?"

" _Why?_ " Markus asked, his coffee-making stalled. "I can't control what I dream about."

Connor tried a different approach then. It was easier than trying to process the truth to Markus' unnervingly astute observation. "What was the dream?"

"You can relax; it was good." Markus shook his head at the coffee pot, and Connor could see the edge of his grin. " _Not_ in the way you're thinking. Although I'm sure that would have been pleasant, too."

"Pleasant," Connor repeated.  "That's  some way of putting it."

"Are you insulted?"

"Not at all. What was the dream?" Connor asked again.

"Maybe some day you'll find out."

Connor arched a brow, but decided not to press. Markus clearly wasn't going to give anything up, after all. So he watched and waited, quiet, until there was a mug of fresh coffee being pushed towards him. "Thanks."

"No problem." Markus picked up his own mug and turned to lean back against the worktop. Connor tried not to notice, but he couldn't help his eyes from straying to admire the shape  Markus made .  He'd seen some of it last night, through his own haze of irritation. Most of all when Markus had sat at that piano. Now  – especially with the promise of a dinner date on the horizon  – he felt free to take a better look. And from broad shoulders to articulate fingers to that  _so slightly_ off-kilter smile , Connor liked what he saw.

"Hungry?"

Connor wanted to say yes, to give himself an excuse to stay longer, but– "I should get gone, after this coffee."

Markus gave Connor a long look, and nodded. "Alright."

"About damn time. Where the hell were you?"

"Crashed with a friend." A large head bumped the backs of Connor's knees, and he reached absently to stroke. "Hey, Sumo."

"A friend. Okay."

He knew that Hank was trying to read the things he wasn't saying right now, giving him the detective's once-over. "I'm still pretty beat, I might just head to bed for a while."

"Before you go – "

"Yes, you were right about him."

Hank frowned, catching Connor's shoulder. "You get that I care about you, right? I'm tryin' here, I am. This, this whole thing, it's not easy. I missed a whole chunk of the growing up parts and– Hell, I just want you happy is all. So I guess what I'm sayin' is when you're _not,_ I kinda feel like it's my fault? And that's, the guilt, it's not something I– Anyway, I'm sorry I yelled." Hank nodded then, his point made, and redirected his attention to his dog. Connor knew it was easier, because he did the exact same thing all the time.

"I get it. It's okay, I'm not seeing him again." It was tempting – _so_ tempting – to tell Hank about Markus right then. But, he figured, he'd wait and see if he even got a call. 

"Okay, good." Hank didn't look up from scratching Sumo's head. "Get some sleep, son. And don't forget I'm working tonight, so you're gonna need to walk him later. Before you start throwing parties. "

"Ha-ha. Okay, I will."

Sumo was plodding happily through damp leaves when Connor's phone rang. He wondered at the way his pulse picked up while he dug his free hand down to grab it from his pocket.

_Oh._

"Hey, Chloe," he answered. "What's up?"

"Well don't sound _too_ thrilled to hear from me, will you? How did it go last night?" That was Chloe. Straight to the point.

"It didn't, exactly," Connor answered, slowing as he neared a low wall to sit on. Sumo trotted back to him and sat by his feet. Happy for the rest, Connor was sure. "He wasn't my type."

"Connor, I'm starting to wonder if you even _have_ a type. What was wrong with him? I thought he was all that and then some?"

"Yeah, well , h e wasn't. " Connor bit his lip, hoping he hadn't sounded too snappy. He _knew_ he could be too picky about things at times, he didn't need Chloe to point it out to him. "Not for me, at least. Although – "

"Oh, there's an _although._ Go on."

Connor lifted one of Sumo's ears, getting his fingers in behind to scratch. The leash was tucked under his leg; he knew Sumo wouldn't go anywhere.

"I kind of fell asleep on the train home, somebody woke me up. He was–"

"Weird? Hot? Drunk?"

"The first two, for sure. No, not weird. But there was something about him. I don't know, it was all kind of strange. I crashed on his couch, but we talked before that. He had these eyes–"

"Everyone has eyes, Connor," Chloe pointed out, deadpan.

"You're a dick," Connor laughed. "Okay, okay, but _his_ were like nothing I've seen before, Chloe. They were two totally different colours, and just really _bright._ I don't know how to explain it. Gorgeous, anyway, and with a body to die for."

"I'm sure you'd rather ride it than die, Connor. So you.. just went home with some stranger from a train and spent the night?"

"Yes, I know how that sounds. But we didn't _do_ anything, except talk." Connor remembered then, sudden and vivid, how Markus' fingers had felt when they were digging into the bridge of his foot. Heat flooded the back of his neck, and he looked down into Sumo's sleepy eyes, shrugged. It wasn't entirely a lie. "Yet, anyway. He took my number."

"Of course he did. You're a catch too, you know. So I assume you at least found out this hot guy's name?"

"Markus," Connor sighed. "God, I hope he calls." He really wasn't sure what he was going to do if Markus  _didn't._

"He'll call. Okay, I've got to go. I'm glad it wasn't a  _total_ loss last night, at least. I'll see you Wednesday night, right?"

"I'll be there. "

Connor's phone didn't ring again until  Sunday evening . He was halfway through folding laundry, two neatly sorted piles on the table, but quickly abandoned the task to answer the call. He knew Hank was watching him as he all but ran to his room.

"Hi."

"Did I interrupt something?" Markus asked.

Connor had forgotten the warmth of that voice, he realized. Or, he'd been so distracted by the rest of it, he just hadn't noticed it enough. "No," he replied, trying not to drift into fantasizing about falling asleep to the sound of Markus just saying words. Any words. "I thought–"

"What, that I wasn't going to call? I was _trying_ to play it at least a little cool." Markus was smiling; Connor heard it and dropped onto his bed, smiling right back. He should have done more of it while he'd been there, with Markus. He knew that. He'd been too caught up in yet another date not quite working out, in feeling like there was something wrong with _him_ instead of them, in feeling alone and unloved and like it would never really change. Maybe he _had_ needed a knight, despite what he'd told Markus. "But I couldn't wait any longer," Markus went on.

"I'm glad you didn't. You make really good coffee, I'd hate to miss out on the chance to taste it again."

Markus laughed, a surprised and pleased sound. "I'm certain you'll enjoy it plenty. So tell me, Connor. When would a consultant with the Police Department be free to go to dinner with me?"

Something skittered and fluttered, low in Connor's belly at those last two words. Where were these nerves coming from? He hadn't been this bad in Markus' loft, so why now? Just because it was a _date_? Although, considering his track record with dating lately, maybe it was exactly that.

"I should be home around six thirty every night this week. Wednesday, I can't do. Game night."

"Game night?"

"Just me and a  few friends. It's an excuse to catch up and drink a couple of beers, it's fun."

"Good. Alright. How about Tuesday, then? I'll pick you up at seven fifteen, is that enough time?"

Connor closed his eyes,  trying to picture the kinds of places Markus might take him. He hoped he didn't screw it up. After a night already spent with him, Connor knew he  _liked_ Markus.

"It's enough time. Pick me up? So you drive?"

"When I need to, yes. Otherwise, I take the train. Which I'm pretty happy about right now."

"Me too." Connor noticed his door moving, and half expected it to be Hank, ready to give him the third degree. He breathed out when Sumo lumbered into the room instead, coming over to drop his big head in Connor's lap. "Hey, buddy," he murmured. "The dog just came to say hi," he explained. He was trying, he knew, to find some excuse to keep Markus on the line. It worked for a time, with Markus asking what kind of dog, and Connor remembering to give Markus his address.

Eventually, of course, Markus said the kind of _okay_ that Connor knew was prelude to wrapping up the call. They'd talk more on Tuesday, he knew.

"Who was that?"

Connor had just ended the call when the question came. Hank was leaning in his doorway, arms folded across his chest.

"I have a date."

"It's not another one from that damn phone app thing, is it?"

"What?" Connor looked at his phone, put it down quickly on his nightstand. "No, it's– I met somebody on the ride home the other night. We got off at the same stop, spent a while just talking, and he asked for my number."

Hank looked at him like he _knew_ Connor was leaving out some important details, but Connor didn't feel like caving.

"So you have a date."

"Yes. Tuesday after work, since I know you'll ask."

For a moment Hank looked as though he wanted to argue some point about that, but instead he just dropped his arms and nodded, pushing off the door-frame. "I hope he treats you right."

Connor knew he meant _better._ "I think he will. He's nice."

"Mm. Alright, well. Dinner's ready, you comin'?"


	3. draumr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus takes Connor out to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took forever for not all that much, really. Next chapter should come quicker! Any and all feedback/comments are appreciated. 💖

North was perched on the arm of the couch, watching Markus attentively. Josh sat to her side, his fingers steepled. He was lost in thought, though Markus didn't know what about.

"You remember the last time you had a dream about someone you were sleeping with, right?" North asked.

"That was _very_ different. And you know I didn't sleep with Connor." Markus felt a need to point that out, though it had no bearing on what they were about to hear.

"Tell us about the dream," Josh said, curious.

"It seemed innocuous enough, but–" Markus reached for his mug of coffee, and took a drink. It had cooled quickly in the time that was passing between the three of them. Still, it gave him the pause he needed to gather the right words. "I've been over it dozens of times, and I know I'm right. He had threads of silver in his hair, crow's feet at each eye. He was breathtaking to me, and I knew I'd told him so a thousand times or more already. We were years away, Josh. Growing older together."

"Aging," North clarified, with a look of distaste.

"Exactly. Which means that he and I were on that same train for a reason."

"Not every dream you have is a prophecy, Markus," North muttered, alighting from the couch to go to the window. Markus knew she'd rather be out there, however grey the sky was turning this morning. "You fall in love too easily, that's your problem. The world isn't all light and sweetness and beautiful boys. It hasn't been that way for some time."

"I think – " Josh began.

"Here we go."

"I think Markus knows his own mind just as well as his heart," Josh continued. "This one's different, even you can agree on that, North."

"Prettier than the rest have been," North conceded. Markus wanted to tell her that wasn't the point, either. "Though I think you have some work to do to make him truly  _happy._ "

_ So you saw that,  _ Markus thought. "I just think he needs reminding how to be, is all. I'm taking him to dinner tonight, I trust I can at least do that alone?"

"Of course," Josh said, before North could answer. He got up to go to her, to smooth ruffled feathers with a simple touch to her shoulder. "We should head out."

"You gonna knock, or are you tryin' to open it with the power of your mind?"

Startled by the sudden, gruff voice, Markus span around to protest that he _wasn't doing anything,_ he'd just arrived a few minutes early. The man walking up the path towards him looked weary, though no more than the old dog plodding behind. His eyes on the other hand were bright, perceptive, though there were sharp lines of loss surrounding them.

"Take it you're here for Connor," he continued, before Markus could say a word.

"I'm early. I mean, I'm Markus. Hi. Yes, sir."

The weathered eyes narrowed, then lifted rapidly heavenward. "No need for that _sir_ shit. Hank's fine. You can wait inside, I'll tell him you're here." Hank stepped around Markus to slot his key into the door. The small horse of a dog stopped to sniff Markus' shoes, and bump his knee.

"Hey," Markus murmured.

There was music coming from somewhere – raucous and unexpected – and Markus figured that even if he _had_ knocked, Connor would likely not have heard it.

"Wait here."

A few seconds passed and the music stopped. Markus listened for their voices, while he crouched and held out his hand for the dog to nose at.

"–you look fine, Connor."

" Please tell me you didn't give him the third degree already."

" – your dates ever called me 'sir'. Just be sure to call me if – "

Hearing the conversation come closer, Markus straightened. "Of course," Connor was saying, as he appeared. "Hi."

Markus smiled, remembering how this face would look, aged and happier. "Hi. I kind of overestimated my journey time, so – "

Connor glanced at the clock hanging beside the coat rack. "It's okay, you're not  _that_ early."

Markus decided not to mention that he'd been standing outside the house for the past ten minutes. Hank was still there, loitering behind Connor and looking as though he wanted to give at least half a dozen more pieces of advice, or warnings of  _what ifs_ . "I guess not. Good to meet you, Hank. I promise I'll take good care of Connor."

Hank simply gave him a curt nod, and squeezed Connor's shoulder as he passed them both. "Have fun, son. Come on, Sumo."

Connor paused to throw on a jacket and shove a set of keys into one of the pockets, then opened the door.

"Take care of me?" He asked, once they were out on the driveway. "I feel like I just got picked up by a babysitter."

"That's not how I meant it to sound, I – " Markus saw Connor's grin, and shook his head. "I guess I should double my rates, I think you might be a handful."

"Maybe you'll find  _that_ out later."

"Now who's flirting?" Markus stopped to open the passenger door for Connor, noting the way the lines of him shifted from want to surprise. Curiosity. It made Markus wonder how often Connor's dates put him first. He decided not to ask. "You look good, by the way."

"Thanks. I was going for hot, but I'll take it."

"I'm trying to be a gentleman, here." Markus was enjoying this new playful element to Connor – maybe the fact of this being an actual date made all the difference. Still, there was something about him that wasn't _entirely_ relaxed yet. As wide as the smile was, it was still wary. Of what, Markus wasn't sure, but he'd figure it out eventually. 

"So where are you taking us?" Connor asked, once they were off his street.

"Do you have something against surprises, Connor?"

"No," Connor replied, turning slightly in his seat. "I guess I just want to be sure I'm not under– or over –dressed."

"You're perfect."

"So it's not drive-thru burgers, thank god."

Not for the first time, Markus wondered what had happened the other night to make Connor's date so disastrous that he'd been as unhappy as he was. "Rest assured, I would never. Unless it was something you were craving."

Connor was quiet for a moment at that, and even after it passed, his only response was a soft hum of dissent.

"Did those nuisance birds ever stop following you?" He asked, after more minutes had gone by.

"Kind of. I guess I gave them what they wanted, and they left me alone. For now, at least."

"I hope I didn't make a mistake, coming out with you." Connor was teasing him again, Markus heard it. "You're a little bit strange."

"Only a little?"

"I'm reserving the rest of my judgment until the night's over."

Markus found himself wanting to ask just when Connor thought it would be, but figured he'd at least wait until after dinner. Anticipation was swimming in the sound of Connor's breaths, in the way he shifted in his seat every so often.

He was still fidgeting another thirty minutes later, when they were seated at a table overlooking the river, a pitcher of water between them. In the end, Markus reached across the distance and placed his hand pointedly over Connor's wrist.

"So, you talk a big game, but I'm seeing something else here. What is it?"

Connor was staring at their hands, and didn't answer. Not for a few seconds. "It's just– This isn't all just to get laid, is it?"

"Because I asked you to dinner after _that_ comment? No, Connor. I like you, I'm intrigued by you. I thought I'd made that perfectly clear."

"I'm not..." Connor paused, turning his hand over beneath Markus' before slowly extricating. " _Good_ at this. I've only been out for a year and a half, it feels like I have a lot of catching up to do and so far most of my dates have ended with me or them skipping out at dawn, so–"

"Okay, first of all? Stop trying to tailor yourself to be what you think I want. I liked you already, and you weren't exactly a ray of sunshine to begin with– Don't scowl, it's true. Second, it's not a race. I can't believe I'm the first person to be telling you this, Connor."

Connor nodded, his mouth a tight line and his eyes gleaming in the low light.

"Not a criticism. I get it, you know? Sometimes it's just not quite the right time. It's not safe, or you're not sure there aren't other avenues you need to explore first.  But you're here now. So." Markus stalled, captivated for a second by the way Connor was looking at him, like he was the best damned thing to happen in a long time. Markus wasn't sure he'd earned that kind of a look yet, but he was planning to do his best to get there.

Their waiter appeared then with the bottle of wine they'd chosen between them and two glasses, and Connor seemed relieved for the distraction.

_ Ease up, Markus,  _ he told himself, taking a sip of the wine. It was reasonably close in flavour to the wine they'd shared the other night, and he wondered if that had been behind the choice. 

"What was I saying? Right, you know that I paint, you've heard me play and had the best foot massage in the city – "

"It's the only foot massage I've ever had," Connor said, rolling the stem of his wine glass between his fingers.

"Sure, but it felt good. Not my point," Markus added. "What do  _ you  _ do to unwind? Or to express yourself?"

Connor shrugged. Stared hard at his glass for too long before he sat back. "I– I don't know." He sounded defeated, so before he could retreat any further, Markus touched their feet together under the table. He saw _message received_ in the gentle slanting of Connor's lips.

"Music. I heard it playing when I came to pick you up earlier. You have a dog who I'm guessing you spend at least some time with each day. Game nights with your friends once a week. You also definitely play some kind of sport, and probably don't think it was worth mentioning because you don't play competitively?"

"Field hockey," Connor affirmed, eyes finally lifting again to look back at Markus. "How did you know that?"

"I _was_ in your house. Briefly. No trophies, but there was gear there. I didn't want to assume ice hockey because this is Detroit. _Everyone_ plays that, and you're not just another everyone."

"Hm. You're right though, I spent a long time, _too_ long, competing. Trying to be the best at everything I was tasked with."

Markus held Connor's gaze, looking for the things he was keeping tucked away at the back of his throat, still. There was pain there, that was plain as day. Why, though?

"And now?" he prompted.

"Still trying to be the best, but for me rather than for anyone else. Hank–" Connor took a fortifying sip of his wine, ploughed on. "Hank always, no matter what the end result, reminds me that we– that _I_ do my best, every day."

"Good. So now you know that you can do things to please yourself, and that not everything's a task. Even if you're still unlearning all those negative things that whoever it was before Hank came along would tell you."

Another interruption came then in the form of their appetizers. Markus thanked the waiter, touched his foot to Connor's again, and poured them both some water.

"I thought we'd be talking about favourite movies, or how winter's right around the corner, stuff like that. I guess after the other night I should have known you'd just dig your fingers right in."

Markus  said nothing to that , sensing there was more.

"My stepmother. I'd say rest her soul, but I'm kind of hoping she's in some version of the hell she put me through for the brief time I was hers."

"Wow," Markus breathed, stabbing his fork into a piece of calamari. "Please, don't hold back."

Connor's lip quirked, eyes falling on Markus' plate. "Is that good?"

"You've never tried it?"

At the shake of Connor's head, Markus redirected the bite he'd been about to take, offering the fork across the table instead. The dubious smile Connor gave was met with Markus' expertly persuasive one, and the bite was taken.

"Hmmm."

"I'm guessing she's been gone about a year and a half?" Markus asked, watching Connor force his eyes open again, seeing a flutter of self-consciousness cross his features as he realized what he'd been doing.  Then what Markus had just said, implied.

"About that. This – " Connor gestured at the two of them, more reserved than before. "Is nothing she would have approved of. That was really good. "

"Help yourself to more if you want. You said  _hers_ like you were her property or something. Is that how it was?"

Chewing a bite of his own appetizer, Connor nodded, swallowed.  "It was. I guess that's why I get so pissed off any time Hank acts like he knows what's best for me."

Markus hummed his agreement. It made sense. "So, field hockey. Infinitely less padding than the other kind, right?"

By the time their desserts came, they'd covered Connor's favourite games, talked at length about celebrity crushes, worst dates and more. Connor was more relaxed than he had been, that apprehension mostly gone, and Markus was pleased.

"Before there's any talk of going dutch, this is on me. I _insist,_ " Markus added, before Connor could come up with any protest. He looked as though he still wanted to, so Markus stole a spoonful of his gelato to give him something else to be offended about instead.

"You're ridiculous," was all that Connor said in the end.

"Thanks."

"I should have known you'd take it as a compliment."

They finished their desserts in a comfortably amused silence, recounting their favourite parts of each course after they were done and Markus was waiting to settle the check. He held up Connor's jacket, enjoying the brief contact as he slipped into it. The evening was growing chilly, a fine, still mist hanging over the river. Markus reached for Connor's hand as they started walking, and nodded his head in the other direction. "Why don't we take the scenic route back to my car?"

Connor wasn't looking where they were going, Markus noticed. He was staring at their hands instead, maybe trying to decide if this was an acceptable progression. Evidently it was, because he curled his fingers in a little tighter and nodded. "Okay."

"Maybe you should give Hank a break," Markus suggested, setting a slow, easy pace. "You must see it too, the same as him. Every day, the worst of society. I think if that's mostly what you see for years on end, it comes to be what you expect."

"He knows there's good out there, too."

"Mm, true. He let me take you out, so he can't be too bad a judge of character."

"Alright, so maybe it just pisses me off that he's always  _right_ ," Connor amended his earlier  statement .

Markus grinned, looking out over the river, to the lights on the other side. "Do you want to come back to my place for coffee? _Just_ coffee," he added. "You can stay, but I'm not dropping my pants on a first date, however good it's been."

"I thought – " Connor began. He stalled, and Markus tightened his grip because it felt like he was losing it. On impulse, and because Connor was rapidly and  _obviously_ backtracking  those thoughts, Markus took hold of the front of his jacket and pulled him in, pressing their lips together.

"What are you doing?" Connor asked, his lips still so close that Markus could feel the shape of the words.

"Kissing you. Or, I would be if you'd just _relax._ Is that okay?"

"But–"

"I'm extremely attracted to you, Connor. My not wanting to have sex with you tonight doesn't mean I'm not going to want to another night. And I told you that all of this wasn't just to get laid, which I'm standing by. So, relax and I'll do my best to rock your world in other ways."

Connor rolled his eyes, which Markus figured he deserved. But he stayed put as well, nudging his cheek into Markus' palm when he curved it there. He opened his mouth this time, breathing out a satisfied sigh through his nose when Markus took the invitation. It was slow and cautious, at least at first. At least until Markus' fingers found their way back into Connor's hair and Connor's found _their_ way into Markus' belt.

When they parted, after a third and a fourth kiss had been eagerly chased down, Connor was looking at Markus in a vastly different way.

"Good?"

"Coffee," Connor replied, decisively. "I have work in the morning, but–"

"It's okay. You can leave after dawn and still make it in time."


	4. vibrant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Markus make another date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short again, I'm sorry. It just didn't want to be any longer. Markus is up again next though, and we know how wordy he can be, so...

Connor could still feel the echoes of Markus' kisses, a warm and pleasant tingling on his lips. He wanted more of those, for _sure_ , but for the ride out to Markus' loft he had to find something else to occupy himself with.

"Thanks, by the way. For dinner, it was probably one of the best meals I've had in a while."

"Better than grilled cheese?"

Connor smiled, still looking out of his window at the dark, damp street. "Close call."

"Well, they _are_ professionals." At a stop sign, Markus reached across, curled the tips of his fingers into Connor's unruly hair. "You take my breath away, did you know that?"

"You can't just say stuff like that, Markus," Connor protested. His skin was burning at those points of contact, but he continued to stare out of the window. "I'm not– "

"I'll just stop you right there. You _are._ Especially if you smile more," Markus added. "It suits you."

Connor felt his face start to fall with that remark, until he told himself no. He had no reason to be unhappy, not right now; it was just a bad habit.

"Keep giving me reasons to and I will," he countered, finally looking back at Markus. "I still think you're a little strange, by the way."

"That's fine, I guess I am." Attention back on the road, they were moving again, though it took Connor a few seconds to stop watching Markus. As breathtaking as he supposedly was, Markus was on a whole other level as far as Connor was concerned.

 _Out of your league,_ a voice in his head supplied. Frowning, he leaned further towards the window and reminded himself that if that were truly the case, he wouldn't be here right now.

"We're almost there," Markus told him a few minutes later. "Still with me?"

"Mm," Connor replied. "Sorry, I guess the food and wine's made me sleepy a bit. Long day."

"I hope you can stay awake long enough for this next part. Coffee'll help at least."

"I'll wake up," Connor promised, glancing at Markus again. God, his _eyes._ Not fair, not by a long shot.

Nothing about Markus was particularly fair, Connor decided, still lazily kissing him. They were sprawled out on one of the couches, the line of Markus firm and inviting beneath Connor. One of Markus' hands was on Connor's skin, just beneath his shirt, and the fingertips drawing feathery circles near the base of his spine had been driving him crazy for the past ten minutes or so, and he knew Markus knew it.

The other hand was in his hair, again. Connor didn't know how Markus was doing it, making all of this feel so easy. He almost asked, but then Markus moved his leg and Connor's weight shifted and both of them groaned.

"I should probably–"

"It's late," Markus said. "You can sleep on the couch if you must, but I'd rather you come to bed with me."

Connor wondered why, if they weren't going to go any further than this tonight, but decided that it didn't matter. He hadn't slept with someone else for a long time, and the thought of waking up beside Markus was more than appealing.

"If you sleep in the nude we may have a problem at some point."

"I don't think I'd ever define it as a problem," Markus said, pulling himself back so that Connor could get his knee down and push off the couch. He followed, and Connor found himself caught in again, close. Soft mouth on his. "Hmm, but you're probably right."

Connor dreamt. Not his usual dreams, which had more to do with whatever cases he'd happened to be working than anything else. Those were shades of grey compared to what he woke from the following morning. He could still feel the cool water between his toes, still taste the sharpness of a storm.

Markus was spooned in behind him, which was just as pleasant. Problematic at the same time, though. He stretched out his toes a little, and turned onto his back.

"You're pretty when you sleep."

Connor closed his eyes again, a nervous twist in his gut that he couldn't explain.

"Why are you watching me sleep?"

"I'm not. I _was._ Now you're awake." Markus pushed up onto his elbow, and Connor could tell without looking that he was grinning that wide, toothy, _gorgeous_ grin.

"I'm just– Not even going to ask any more." Connor slowly opened his eyes again, only for them to flutter shut when Markus bent and kissed him.

"I have a spare toothbrush."

Connor licked his lips, feeling self-conscious, and nodded. "Okay. I should–"

"Probably. I'll get us some breakfast ready. I have an appointment downtown this morning, I can take the train most of the way with you if you'd like."

"Sure," Connor agreed. Markus was up and out of bed before Connor could even finish rubbing the lingering tiredness from his eyes. This, Connor decided, was weird. He got up and made his way to the bathroom, finding a toothbrush still in its wrapper sitting out already. After freshening up, Connor located his clothes, glad that they at least wouldn't look too out of place for work.

Markus was busy making eggs when Connor left the bedroom. He was only half-dressed, which Connor took a moment to appreciate before venturing further in.

"Sorry about the morning breath," he said, watching a smile form on Markus' lips. Then those eyes were on him, and Markus was shaking his head.

"The toothbrush? I swear, that was terrible timing on my part, not a comment about your taste. You're delicious, Connor."

"Oh. Uh. Thanks?"

"Coffee's ready, by the way. I got up and put a pot on earlier. You were still dreaming; I didn't want to wake you."

"Dreaming," Connor repeated. "I was. It was–"

"You were relaxed. Probably the most relaxed I've seen you yet, and one of the first things I thought about you was that you weren't. Like, at _all._ "

"Being woken up by a complete stranger was a little disconcerting," Connor admitted. "I'm not always like that, you know."

"I'm seeing it, yes. You'd had a bad date. Last night was, I hope, the opposite of a bad date."

Connor had been reaching for a mug. He paused with it in his hand, partly because he'd recalled the shitty night he'd been having until Markus had woken him up on that train. Partly because there was a faint vulnerability to what Markus had just asked without asking, and he hadn't thought of Markus as uncertain, not through any of their interactions so far.

"Yes, I'll go out with you again," he said in reply, filling his mug. "If that's what you were asking?"

"I thought you might, but certain people do love to remind me that I probably can't predict the future. Friday night?"

"Okay," Connor said, deciding not to ask. A movement caught his eye just then, and he raised his mug towards the window on the far wall. "Your friends are back. The ravens."

Markus looked, and Connor lifted a brow as he just flipped them the bird. Stranger still, the two of them turned and flew away.

"Did you just–"

"We have an understanding," Markus said. "Eggs are done, let's eat."

Connor was sitting on his desk, busy working through some of his notes on a case when Hank dropped into his seat.

"So," he said.

Connor glanced up, back to his notes, then up again. "I sent a text."

"You did. Thanks. You two were–"

"I swear to god, if you're about to say 'safe', I'm walking away."

Hank held up both hands, placating. He stayed quiet, and Connor picked up his notes again. For a few minutes at least, until Hank spoke again.

"I'm happy you had a good time, son. You had a good time, right? I'm guessing you did since you didn't come home last night–"

"He's nice," Connor said, with a shrug. "He's... I don't know. And we didn't, anyway."

"Huh. Alright. Seeing him again?"

"Friday night."

"Good." Hank got up, squeezed Connor's shoulder. "Least you look like you got a good night's sleep for once. I'll see you later."

"I'll walk Sumo before I go to Chloe's tonight, okay?"

"Okay, what's wrong?" Connor asked, when Chloe came back from seeing their friends out. "You've been weird all night."

"I didn't want to say anything in front of Danny, that's all. You _know_ that boy has a crush on you."

"Chloe–"

"Don't worry. I've been steering him gently away. Anyway, it's about hot train guy."

"Markus? What about him?" Connor wasn't sure he wanted to know, and why did Chloe know anything about him?

"It was that thing you said about his eyes, it kind of reminded me of something. So I did a little digging because I'm your _friend,_ and did he tell you his dad's Carl Manfred?"

Connor continued packing away the game they'd been playing, stacking the cards neatly. Waited for more. When it didn't come, he looked up again and shrugged. "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"Are you kidding me right now, Connor? Carl Manfred. Activist, musician, _artist._ One of Detroit's richest."

"Okay?" Connor supposed that explained the loft. He'd wondered how a massage therapist could afford such a place.

"He's not the only Manfred with his work hanging on gallery walls, is all," Chloe said, deflated. "I just thought it was interesting. If he's the one, you know? Then he's a pretty damn good one."

"We've only been on one date," Connor pointed out.

"Are you going out with him again?"

"Friday." Connor sighed, putting the last pieces of the game in its box.

"Well then," Chloe said, triumphantly. Connor was too tired to argue with _that_ logic. "He's gorgeous, I don't blame you. Which I know because there are pictures out there of him and his dad. I mean, trust you to land one of the most beautiful men I've ever laid eyes on, right?"

Connor's cheeks flushed with that remark. To hear Chloe confirm exactly what he'd been thinking was strange. Markus _was_ beautiful. Unlike anyone Connor had seen in his life. A walking, talking work of art. Who wanted to date _him,_ of all people.

"Oh, sweet Connor. You're the prettiest," Chloe told him, coming close to cup his face in her hands and press a noisy, wet kiss to his cheek. He just took it, rolling his eyes. "At least from what I've read about him, he shouldn't turn out to be an asshole. Speaking of, did you two–"

"Jesus, Chloe! No! Why is everyone so interested in my sex life today?"

Chloe wrapped her arms around him instead for a hug. "I just want you to be happy, Conn."

Folding his arm over hers, Connor tipped their heads together. "I am happy. Most of the time. There are pictures of him? Really?"

"Just a few. Exhibition openings, charity events. He might just be a keeper."

"One date, Chloe." Connor sighed. "I should head home."

"Okay. Try not to fall asleep this time. Or do, whatever." She beamed at the look he gave her, and kissed his cheek again. "I'll see you out."

Of course, Connor looked Markus up once he got home. He wondered how he'd never heard of this family before, when it seemed they were quite active on the art scene. But then, he wasn't. Not that art wasn't his thing, he was just too busy or too buried to really notice it a lot of the time.

He'd liked what he'd seen of Markus' work, he knew that. He also liked Markus, even if there was something about him that he couldn't quite explain yet.

He just had no idea why Markus liked _him._


	5. arvakr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Connor have another date/night together.
> 
> (I can only apologise for how long this has taken me. :( Sorry!)

"You're not funny, you know." North was standing by the loft door, arms folded over her chest.

"It was kind of funny." Markus grinned, digging his fingers into a pocket for his keys. "Really all I need is for the two of you to be less obvious. Connor's not blind, and he's definitely not ignorant, so can you just, I don't know, be more careful?"

North chewed lightly at her lower lip, but gave him a contrite nod in answer.

"I didn't plan on dinner guests tonight, by the way."

"That's fine; we're not staying." Josh unfurled from the shadows beyond where North stood. "I thought we should come and warn you–"

"Leo's in town," Markus finished for him, surprising them both. "You think you're the only ones keeping an eye on things?"

"You seem... calm. Why?"

"You must remember what happened the last time he was around," North said, pointedly.

"Of course. So I'm not about to be conned into believing anything he says, not again. That's if our paths even happen to cross, which I doubt."

"I think you should watch your back, all the same," Josh insisted.

"Do I need to when you're always watching it for me?"

"Okay, okay, point taken," North muttered, reaching back even while Josh was stepping forward to draw her against his side. "But it's Leo. Don't underestimate what he's capable of, Markus."

"Believe me, I know _exactly_ what he's capable of."

North's expression softened, sympathetic. "I remember. We should go, we'll see you soon."

Markus had told a couple of his clients about his plans for the evening, the dinner he was going to make. The way they'd looked at him made him wonder if he should tone things down a little bit, but he knew that Connor was worth all and every effort. He still couldn't figure out why _now._ After years of finding it easy to allow lovers to come and go from his life, why should Connor be the one who was different?

He was beautiful, but Markus had taken beautiful people into his bed before. Even people who hadn't been grumpy and irritated when he'd first met them. There was something more, something irresistibly enticing about him. A mystery which Markus intended to take his time in solving.

His phone rang while he was putting the finishing touches to the pots of lemon mousse he'd decided to make for dessert.

"Connor?"

"Hi. Everything's fine, I'm on my way. I just, uh, I got kind of turned around outside the station and I'm not sure where–"

"Tell me what you see."

Markus listened, directing Connor until he heard, "oh, wait. I think I see your door."

"Can't really miss it," Markus said, laughing quietly at Connor's _alright, alright. Smart-ass._

A few minutes later, they were kissing in the doorway, Connor's fingers curled into the front of Markus' shirt.

"Well–"

"I knew I wasn't exaggerating how good that was when I was thinking about it this morning."

Connor laughed, a surprised and self-effacingly nervous laugh, and shoved Markus' shoulder. "Smooth. Does that line work often?"

"It's not a _line,_ I was honestly–" Markus stopped, rolling his eyes. "Alright. Come in, dinner's mostly under control. Wine?"

"Sure."

"How was game night?"

"It was... Enlightening. It smells _amazing_ in here, what did you make?"

"A risotto. Wild mushroom, chicken, some pretty good wine. What does that mean, enlightening?" Markus handed Connor two glasses, and opened a drawer for the corkscrew.

"More wine in the food? Are you trying to get me drunk, Markus?"

"Do I need to?"

Connor paused, apparently uncertain how to answer that for the best. He changed track again instead, backing up to the other question. "It means I learned a few things. Things about you, actually, since my friend had somehow heard of you."

"Oh, really?" Markus busied himself with opening the wine, wondering just where this was going. "Like what?"

"That the walls of this apartment aren't the only ones your paintings are hanging on. That you do charity work with your dad, and that I'm apparently in the minority for not having heard of you before."

"You're really not, Connor," was the first thing Markus said to all of that. He left the wine alone for long enough to lean in and press a soft kiss to Connor's mouth. "We do our best to keep as much of our work quiet as we can. Now and then word gets out, I guess, but– I'm glad you had no idea. I'm happy you thought I was just some random weirdo who offered you their couch for the night."

"I like weird," Connor murmured, a pretty flush of colour to his cheeks.

"Let's have dinner, shall we?"

"Okay, there have to be some things that you're terrible at," Connor said, after he'd made the most delicious sound on tasting the risotto. "Seriously, how were you even single when we met?"

Markus wanted to tell him it was fated, but wasn't sure how Connor would take that, so he just smiled and shrugged. "You're right, I wasn't the one on my way home from a date. I guess it was my lucky night though?"

" _Your_ lucky– Right. Sure."

"What?"

"It's just– Nothing." Markus wanted to rewind back to a place he could just take Connor's feet in his hands and stop him shutting down like he was doing. It seemed to be a default setting for him when he wasn't ready to be flirted with. But, there was time. They'd get back there.

"You don't think a whole lot of yourself, do you Connor?" Markus watched the way Connor's smile fell, and wondered if he should have said anything. "I guess it's a good thing I'm here to think of you instead, right?"

"I just think someone like you could do better, is all."

_Ah._ There it was. Markus didn't need to ask to know that this was a regular gut-punch that Connor gave himself.

"Maybe so. Maybe, so could you. But here we are with each other. Will you do something for me, Connor?"

Connor didn't answer, just stared at Markus with too-bright eyes.

"Quit telling yourself that you're not worth, or you can't have, or any variation on that theme and just be here with me because I remember that kissing you felt _really_ good, and watching you sleep was one of the best ways I've spent my early morning hours just lately. I like you. I'll tell you that however many times you need to hear it for it to really sink in."

"Are you always this intense?"

"Most of the time," Markus replied, not at all apologetic. "You'll get used to it." He let the implication of that hang between them while he returned to his food.

"Lasting damage," Connor said, after a few beats of silence. Markus waited for him to elaborate, watched him eat a couple more spoonfuls of risotto before he did. "It's false confidence. Fake it till you make it? A technique I used to use to keep my stepmother off my back. Sometimes it worked, even."

"I see." Words that were only half true, but Connor seemed willing and ready to talk, so Markus figured he'd wait him out.

"It's how I almost convinced myself I was good enough for someone who basically looks like a god to me."

Markus' gaze had snapped up at that particular choice of descriptor, and immediately – out of habit – he began to protest. "I don't... I'm not–"

"I said to _me._ Then Chloe told me all about your fame and fortune and I realized what I'd been doing, just acting like I could actually date a guy like you. Honestly? I almost stayed home tonight."

"You don't need to act like anything, Connor. You can date me, you could date anyone you wanted in fact. I'm glad it's me though, and that you didn't stay home." Markus reached across the table, touched his fingertips to the back of Connor's hand, to the lines he could see etched into the skin. Doubt, fear. Also, _want._

"Me too. I guess if you want me, really, I'll figure out how to accept being wanted."

"Pretty sure I can help you with that."

The storm started as they were clearing away the dishes together. Markus had felt it brewing for most of the day, but the first flash seemed to startle Connor. The ensuing thunder unfurled like a low purr, and Markus pushed the dishwasher door closed with his knee, reached for Connor's hand at the same time.

"Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"Roof."

"What?" Connor resisted, making Markus stop too. "Markus, that's–"

"A great idea? I know. Come on." Markus pulled lightly at Connor's hand, but still he didn't move.

"What exactly about being completely exposed during a thunderstorm seems like a great idea to you?"

"If you don't want to go, we won't, but just so you know? I'll keep you safe. I promise, nothing bad will happen." Feeling Connor start to give in, Markus rearranged their hands until his fingers were locked in between Connor's. "I promise," he said again. He wanted to explain that storms felt like home to him. Family, nostalgia. But he'd had so many different reactions to that particular revelation before now that he decided to keep it to himself.

He'd hoped the storm might start later, but this particular god had never been renowned for his patience.

Another flare of lightning once they were out on the roof had Connor clinging to him, runes flickering in his eyes. The rain on his lashes trembled as thunder hammered down and splintered heavy cloud. Markus watched a drop fall, followed the course of it as it spilled over Connor's pale cheek. He looked–

Beautiful. _Terrified._

It wasn't the storm, Markus thought. "You're afraid of heights?" He had to raise his voice to be heard, though Connor seemed prepared for the question. As if he knew the shape of it by heart already.

"When there's nothing between me and the sky, _yes._ "

"There's me," Markus told him, pressing his knuckles lightly to Connor's cheek. "We'll go back–"

"Just hold onto me."

"Always," Markus whispered, and it was likely for the best that the word was lost under steady rain.

Together they stood, silent spectators until the storm passed over, moving out over the water. Markus listened to the comforting clamour of it for a time, until Connor's fingers flexed in his shirt.

"Okay?" he asked.

"You're a lunatic."

"Now and then. Are you okay?"

"No, I'm soaking and we're a hundred feet off the ground. Why did I come up here with you?"

"My lunacy's attractive?" Markus tucked his thumb beneath Connor's chin, lifting as gently as possible. "I'm sorry."

Connor glanced to his left, and Markus tightened the wrap of his arms. "Oh, god, we're so far–"

"I've got you. Let's go back inside. We both need to get out of these clothes."

Connor's laugh was short and anxious. "Ah, _now_ I see."

Connor was standing at one of the windows with a towel around his shoulders when Markus returned from throwing their wet clothes into the drier. Slipping his arm around Connor's hip, Markus stepped in close behind him to press his nose and lips against delicate skin.

"I'll get you a blanket."

"Don't be lazy," Connor murmured. "Warm me up yourself."

Amused, Markus looked up to see Connor's reflection staring back at him. "Alright. Shall I make us some tea?"

Connor sighed, turning around in Markus' hold. "Funny. You said you want me, for whatever reason. So. _Want_ me."

"It's so much more than that, Connor. You have no idea, _none._ "

"Tell me then," Connor insisted, though the words were edged with a hurt that Markus hadn't anticipated. "I'm not a child, I can handle it."

_I'm going to wake up to your smile, fifty years from now. I'll make you laugh, I'll most certainly make you cry, but through it all you'll know the most fervent, most reverent, most honest love you've ever known._

"Tell you?" Markus shook his head. "Why would I do that and spoil the surprise?"

Connor looked into his eyes for a long, silent moment, then let his head fall forward, butting against Markus' shoulder. "I'm not used to surprises. Just humour me, please?"

It was the _please_ that did it. Markus closed his eyes before he answered, hoping that he wouldn't send Connor running for the hills. "I want to be the one to take every hurt you endure and forge each of them into something good, something better. I want to take you to every place I've known and loved and then explore all of the unknown with you too so that we can love new places together. I want to hear you laugh and cry and see you rage and come, I–"

"Markus," Connor stopped him, choked. "I'm not..." His voice faltered again, and Markus felt him swallow, hard. "You can't say things like that, you know?"

"Once again, I can and I will. It's just how I am, Connor. I'm pretty confident you can handle it, though."

"Confident. That's kind of an understatement. Can we just, please can we just dial things back a bit? I like you. God, I _really_ like you, and I like that you want that with me, but right now all I can think about – actually all I can really handle for now – is you kissing me because you said you liked _that_ too. So will you?"

"I will," Markus promised. "And will you come to bed with me?"

Another hard swallow, and Connor nodded.

Markus had always loved these moments, but somehow the impact of them this time around had increased more than tenfold because it was _Connor._ Because he had dreamed their future together and knew already that things would only ever get better.

He was still, still cradled inside Connor's thighs while he watched Connor's senses begin to return to him.

"You can't be real," was the first thing Connor said to him. The first coherent thing, in fact, in the last hour or so.

"You know that was only fifty percent me, right?" Markus said, reaching to push the sweat-damp curls out of Connor's left eye.

"I'd say seventy-thirty." Connor's mouth quirked up, and he lifted his head to press his lips to Markus'. "So now I know yet another thing you're annoyingly good at."

"Annoyingly?"

"Mm. Hey."

Markus didn't need to ask what Connor wanted. He leaned closer, curling his fingers deeper into Connor's hair while they kissed. "I think my favourite part was when you forgot words."

"My favourite part was that thing you did with–"

Markus laughed, stifling whatever was coming with another kiss. He pressed his forehead to Connor's, the tips of his fingers lightly to Connor's nape. "We should shower. We're pretty disgusting right now."

"Are you going to keep your hands to yourself?"

"Hmm, doubtful. I.. I wasn't going to do this. Not so soon. I'd planned on playing something for you, a slow-dance on the roof, kissing you to sleep, but I guess there's time. Maybe not the roof again, but the rest of it..." Markus trailed off, seeing Connor's gaze start to shutter at what he was saying. "Hey, no, don't do that. Look at me, Connor. I don't have any regrets, not one."

"Good," Connor said, warm hand curving Markus' cheek. The uncertainty Markus had glimpsed a second ago melted away, and he turned to press his lips to Connor's palm.

_I adore you. Already._

Markus was sitting in the window, quietly sketching in dawn's dim light when he heard Connor begin to stir.

"Over here," he said, before Connor could ask.

A sleepy and decidedly disgruntled groan came from the bed, followed by the reluctant shuffling off of sheets.

"Cold," Connor complained, but Markus heard him getting up anyway, listened to the whisper of his feet across the floor. "Mmh. What time is it?" he asked, resting his chin on Markus' shoulder, his arms laying loose across Markus' chest.

"Still early. You didn't have to get up." Markus dipped his head, kissed the inside of Connor's arm. "Okay?"

"Mm-hm. This–" Connor nuzzled Markus' ear, his breath a warm tickle. "Nothing. Just, thanks for still being here."

"I live here, Connor," Markus pointed out, deadpan. "And I could say the same, I guess?"

"Yeah, well. I like you, too. Enough not to want to run from this. Is that–"

Markus looked down at the lines he'd been sketching, and nodded.

"What are those?"

_Right. Of course he'd notice, Markus._

"They're what I see when I look at you."

"Weird looking tattoos? Why?"

"Not tattoos. Runes."

Markus felt Connor go still. Clearly he was having the anticipated _what-the-hell_ moment, so Markus waited him out.

"Okay, you're going to have to explain what you mean by that, because you say runes and I just think of dwarves and mountains."

"They're part of the language of my ancestors. Who were very much not dwarves," Markus added, tipping his head back a little. "We have runes for all kinds of things, but these that I see on you are all about desire and longevity."

Connor hummed, a contemplative sound. "That makes everything so much clearer."

"Ancient Norse."

"Oh. That's–"

"Weird?" Markus asked, moving to make Connor come around and face him. "You like weird though, right?"

"I said that, didn't I? I do. So you see thousand year old symbols in places where I can't, no big deal. And what does that mean, longevity?" Connor rolled his eyes immediately after asking and added, "I know what the _word_ means, before you decide to be a smart-ass again. What do _you_ mean?"

Markus wasn't sure how to answer that. He wasn't all that sure if he _should_ answer that. But Connor was here, wasn't running for the door already, hadn't bailed on him after they'd slept together. He deserved the truth.

"Just that I feel this will last. I dreamt us together, years from now."

"Oh, really? Couple of kids and a dog called Patch?" Connor was hiding again, Markus could tell. He just met Connor's eyes, letting the silence stretch until there was no cover left, except– "Come back to bed?"

Markus nodded. "Alright."


	6. dawning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor learns a few things. Not that they make him any less curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been months. I hope someone's still interested in this fic. XD Evidently I needed half a year off writing, but I'm fairly confident the next chapter will be out before 2022. Thanks, if you're still reading. I hope you enjoy this offering!
> 
> .

"Who says stuff like that, anyhow?" Connor asked. "We've barely begun dating properly and he's already dreaming about our future together? How? _Why?_ "

Sumo lifted his head and gave a sleepy _boof_ before dropping it again. It was about the answer Connor had been expecting. Still, he couldn't figure Markus out and he didn't quite know who to talk about it with. Chloe would love the whole story, of course. Markus would be the romantic hero, come to sweep Connor off his feet and whisk him off into the sunset to do unspeakably romantic things together. Destiny, she'd call it.

Connor wasn't sure if he really believed in that kind of thing, though it was becoming clear to him that Markus _did._

If he told Hank, he'd get little more than a very specific look. Maybe a 'hmm', for good measure.

And runes? Really? Connor had thought Markus a bit odd from the start, but he was starting to revise that judgment. Extremely strange seemed more appropriate.

But. He was also kind of exceptional at just about everything as far as Connor could tell. Cooking, painting, music, _sex._ He was what anyone would refer to as the full package, with a body that shouldn't be real. So what if Markus had dreams about them being together forever? They weren't premonitions, after all.

Not that Connor thought he would mind if they were, which was probably the thing he found most unsettling.

Engrossed in the report he was working on, it took Connor a few moments to register that his phone was buzzing. Still distracted, he reached for it and hit answer without looking at the caller id. "Anderson," he said, eyes scanning the words he'd just typed.

"Connor?"

The voice was amused and warm, and made the words Connor had been reading melt into meaningless shapes. He closed his eyes to them, and chewed at his lower lip.

"Is this the right-"

"I'm here," Connor remembered to say. "I mean, yes. It's me, Markus. Hi. Is everything okay?"

"Of course. I was calling to let you know I may be a half hour late tonight. Family thing."

Something about those two words, or rather the way Markus said them, made the back of Connor's neck prickle. Perhaps because he'd barely mentioned his family before. "Okay. Nothing's happened, I hope?"

"Sweet of you to be concerned, but no. At least, not yet."

Connor wondered if he should ask what Markus meant by _that,_ then decided it could wait.

"I also wanted to apologise again. For the roof, mostly."

Connor smiled to himself, shaking his head. "I think you already made up for that one. Besides, I should've just told you I didn't want to go up there. I mean, I should have said _why._ So it's okay, really."

Markus hummed some soft response to that, and Connor heard another voice in the background.

"I have to go. My ride's waiting. I'll see you later, Connor."

"You look delicious tonight," Markus murmured, his fingers still trailing through Connor's curls.

"That explains why the first thing you did was try to consume me, I guess." Connor's throat was still damp, pulse running wild beneath skin which Markus had spent several minutes kissing. "Markus, is... Is everything okay?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing." The words were quiet, and Markus sat back enough on the bench they were occupying that Connor could finally see his eyes. The concern written in the furrow of his brow. "What I said, the other morning— "

"It's okay." Connor smiled, shrugging one shoulder. "I mean, you are a _lot,_ but maybe that's not such a bad thing. Sometimes I feel like, I don't know, like I've led a pretty unremarkable, insignificant life. Just like I get the feeling that sticking with you will change that. If it's as long as years from now, or just a few months, there's going to be an impact." Connor swallowed, his eyes drawn to the barely there freckles along Markus' cheekbone. "There's already an impact."

"You think you've had none on me?"

The tone brought Connor's gaze straight back to Markus' face. Caught off guard, he stumbled for an answer. "I think I'm beginning to realise I'm more than the hook-up you might've been looking for when you offered me your couch for the night." Immediately he reached, curved his hand over Markus' jaw, gratified by the way he leaned into the touch. "That wasn't fair, I'm sorry. I know you weren't... It doesn't matter. Maybe we should just keep walking."

"We should," Markus agreed. "And I thought we'd discussed your need to apologise for everything you say."

With a small smile, Connor nodded. "Right."

Hand in hand, and with the gentle sloshing of the river to their left, they walked further out towards the docks. Silent, absorbed with their own thoughts. It wasn't until the shadows of buildings turned familiar that Markus spoke again.

"My brother's visiting," he said, digging his keys from his pocket. He was staring ahead, not looking at Connor.

"Oh?"

"We don't get along, particularly. So if I seemed... off, tonight. That's why."

"Distracted, that's all. I thought you were, I don't know. Being careful. With me."

They'd reached the painted door of Markus' loft. Connor watched him slot the key into the lock, though he didn't turn it right away. He looked back over his shoulder, and Connor almost shivered at the hungry look in his eyes.

"Do I need to be careful? You keep telling me you don't want to hear the things I have to say, but you're still here. Listening. So I'll carry on as I am, and we both know that doesn't involve being careful at all."

Connor couldn't argue with that. The moment Markus turned back to opening the door, Connor crowded in behind him, leaned up to kiss the stubble of his scalp, to draw the curve of his ear between his lips. He heard — and felt — the catch of Markus' breath, and pressed in closer.

"Forget about your brother, okay?"

Humming agreement, Markus nudged open the door before turning to pull Connor into a kiss that seemed to channel all of the appetite he'd glimpsed just moments before.

"Deal. Bed?"

There were definitely worse futures to imagine, Connor decided, his head pillowed on Markus' chest. He wondered exactly what it was that Markus had dreamt for them. More of this? Or even more _than_ this?

"So how often do your dreams come true?" he asked, continuing his train of thought out loud.

Apparently unfazed, Markus' hand didn't falter in Connor's hair as he answered. "Often enough for me to be as confident about us as you might be that the ground will be there to meet your feet with every step you take."

" _That_ confident," Connor said, turning his head enough to press his lips to Markus' skin. "So you're some kind of a psychic, is that it? See into the future?"

"Something like that."

"Is that right?" Grinning, Connor pushed his hand beneath sheets already in disarray and took Markus in a firm hold. "Did you see that coming?"

"Funnily enough... Mmm. You're actually, gods Connor, already pretty predictable when it comes to-" Markus groaned, his head pressing back into the pillow. " _Connor._ "

"No. Let me," Connor insisted, when Markus started to reach for him. "Maybe I want to see _you_ laugh and cry and rage and come, did you consider that?"

Markus stared at him then, and it seemed to Connor a conscious decision because it was like the flip of a switch — he blinked, and suddenly everything was laid bare for Connor to see. To know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Markus was _different._ **Other**. Worlds beyond anything Connor could begin to comprehend. The movement of his hand had paused into stillness, and this time he didn't resist when Markus' fingers curved over his own to offer assistance.

He started to wonder, watching Markus' features tighten with the ache and the exertion, watching them relax into breathless laughter and bliss, if he'd even been paying attention the last couple of times. Maybe he'd been too caught up in his own ecstasy to really notice. But he was certainly noticing now.

When Markus arched into their hands, Connor immediately shuffled back on his knees, desperate to have the taste on his tongue. That it wrung from Markus a strangled groan was just icing on the cake to him. He grinned around his mouthful, sucked at the edge of Markus' thumb as it was within his reach, and dropped his cheek to rest against Markus' hip, swallowing carefully.

"So— "

"I take it back. You're entirely unpredictable after all, Connor Anderson."

"You're right. What I was _going_ to say was that I don't feel like moving right now. So you're good if I stay?"

"There was a question?"

Connor woke to the sounds and smells of breakfast cooking. Blearily, he pushed his way out from beneath the covers and retrieved his discarded underwear. Markus was humming to himself, busy at the stove when Connor made his way out, though he moved to pour coffee and push the mug into Connor's hand, a kiss to his lips.

"Morning."

"How long have you been up?" Connor grumbled, taking the kiss and the coffee almost on auto pilot. He'd slept well, something he seemed to do better in Markus' bed, and dreamt those same vivid dreams as before. Not quite as prophetic as Markus' dreams claimed to be, he was sure.

"Long enough."

"You know it's Saturday, right? You can be lazy. We can be lazy together, I don't have anywhere to be."

It sounded like a perfect day to Connor, to just go back to bed with Markus and learn other ways to bring to the surface everything he'd seen last night. He wanted to, _needed_ to understand it. Whatever _it_ was.

Markus, apparently, had other ideas. "I thought we'd take a trip out. Jump a train, any train, see where we end up. An adventure."

Connor leaned against the worktop, his hand wrapped through the mug's handle. The ugly green of it didn't bother him so much any more. He wondered if Markus had made the mug. "Is that because the last train adventure ended so well?"

He caught the grin Markus shot him, and hid his own in a sip of coffee.

"Maybe. And you have nowhere else to be, so why not? We can detour by your place later if you want to stay the night here again, so you can grab some clothes. Or not, and you can wear something of mine."

Connor's face flushed with heat at that suggestion, and he struggled for a second to figure out why. Wearing Markus' clothes wasn't exactly any more intimate than the things they'd already done together, was it? Or maybe it was, just a different kind of intimacy. "Okay," he managed.

Connor was no longer certain of exactly where they were, but Markus had shown no sign that he was out of his comfort zone, nor that he'd struggle to find his way back home again. They'd discovered parts of Detroit that Connor had no idea even existed, buildings complete and those that had fallen to ruin — both equally beautiful.

They'd walked until they'd hit the riverfront, places more known to them both. Markus had bought noodles from a cart, so they'd stopped at one of the picnic benches to eat. The sun was just beginning to take its meandering path back to the other side of the world, and Connor was enjoying the warmth of it, his head tipped to soak up the heat. Beside him, Markus was finishing the last of his noodles.

Connor closed his eyes, then turned his head to the side and opened them again.

"I'm starting to think you have some kind of avian fan club," he remarked, watching the pair of ravens as they watched him right back. Sunlight rippled over black feathers as one of them shook out its wings and moved closer to its mate. "It's not just me, is it?"

Beside him, Markus let out an almost exasperated sigh. Connor wanted to backtrack, to not have mentioned them at all, but at the same time he was curious.

More so, when Markus pointed his chopsticks at the birds. "Memory, and Thought. I didn't name them, just to be clear."

"Name them? What?"

"They have a thing about following me. Spying on me, really."

"Right. That's not weird at all." Connor glanced at the ravens again, then back at Markus. Who looked... perfectly serious. "I really like you, you know. So if there's something I should be made aware of, like... Are you— "

"Perfectly sane. As much as anyone is, at least. I already told you about my ancestry, Connor. Those two sort of come with the territory, that's all."

"Thought and Memory," Connor repeated. He watched Markus dispose of the now empty carton, and reached for his hand. "So they're family pets?"

"Exactly. I mean, kind of. Though maybe don't let them hear you calling them pets." Markus grinned, taking Connor's other hand to pull him in, close. Almost too close for a public space, but Connor couldn't bring himself to care. "I'm going to keep reminding you that you said you like weird, by the way. Because I like you, too. Actually, I— "

Markus was cut off by a pitched, throaty croak from one of the ravens. "Oh, go home," he muttered, his hand migrating from holding Connor's to pressing at the small of his back, instead. "This next part is nobody's business."

The kiss made Connor's knees weak. He looped his arms around Markus' shoulders, holding on, and heard the sound of fluttering wings — somehow, beyond the pounding of his own blood. Markus' warm hand cupped to the back of his head, the pressure of his fingertips at the base of Connor's spine, every place there was no space between them was making Connor dizzy. He pushed at Markus' chest, just to get enough distance to suggest that they should go somewhere more private.

Connor had somehow managed to cool off on the way back to the loft, in spite of the way Markus had kept looking at him, touching him when nobody was looking. Still, he was eager to continue this particular misadventure, and as soon as the door was closed behind them, he was pulling at Markus' shirt, ascending another step just to be able to reach, to slide his lips over bare skin. He'd forgotten the ravens, the peculiarity of the way Markus had talked about them. He'd forgotten that he still needed to text Hank to let him know he wouldn't be home. All that mattered right now was Markus, and the small matter of undoing him again, completely. To pull at that loose thread of mystery he'd discovered, see how much more he could unravel.

"I'll play for you again, later," Markus was saying, turning on the step to push Connor into the wall and lift him into a kiss.

"I'd like that," Connor murmured in reply, while Markus' lips strayed. "Later."

The mouth on him stilled, curving into an indulgent grin. "Alright, alright, hint taken." With that, Markus caught Connor's hand and turned once again to carry on up the stairs, quicker than before.

Through the open doorway, it was like walking into a wall of ice. Connor collided with Markus, words dying in his throat at just how rigid he'd become. "What is it? What's hap—" he started to ask.

Someone was sitting on the couch. _Lounging,_ really. One restless foot was bouncing where it was propped against the coffee table. There was an empty glass in his hand, and a curious smirk on his face. "What did you expect? You don't call, you don't write. Figured it was easier for me to visit."

"Get the fuck out of my house."

"Rude. First of all, I'm pretty sure the Alldad had something to do with buying this place. Secondly, aren't you going to introduce me to your latest conquest?"

_Conquest?_ Connor's hand was pressed to Markus' back. He stared at it, needing to focus on anything but those few words.

"I'm not going to ask you again, Leo."

So now the stranger had a name, at least.

"Fine. Fine, I'm leaving. You have terrible taste in... well, everything. Gods only know why you're his favourite."

"I guess he prefers his sons sober," Markus retorted, at least some of the stiffness draining out of him when Leo passed them by, starting down the stairs. Three steps down though, he looked back at the both of them.

"You're not perfect either, Markus. This one'll figure that out soon enough. I'll be seeing you."

Connor watched until Leo was out of the door and gone. Markus was at the window when he finally turned back around, staring out at the late afternoon sky.

"So that was— "

"My brother. Yes. What he said, Connor, I— "

"He seemed like kind of an asshole. I think I'll make up my own mind about you. If that's okay." Connor crossed the room, not enjoying the distance between them. He touched the hard set of Markus' jaw, smiling until Markus smiled back. "Besides, nobody's really perfect."


End file.
